My Dark Side
by 8belles
Summary: "I don't trust a guy without a dark side. Call me old fashioned." Tony sneered. Cap ripped the log in his hands in half, voice cold as ice, "Well let's just say you just haven't seen it yet." My take(s) on Steve's dark side. Trigger warning for bullying/violence. Bucky Barnes (in flash back and current-but rehabbed) here too. Non-linear timeline, more like an anthology.
1. Chapter 1

My Dark Side

 **A/N: After watching Avengers: Age of Ultron, I was very intrigued that Steve could even possess darkness to his character. I mean, he's Captain America for crying out loud! (Language, I know). But he's still a human being. So I thought about it for a long time and this is what I came up with. Trigger warnings for bullying violence.**

 _The sour odor of trash filled his nose as he stared at the pavement with a swollen eye. A rat scurried by just out sight but he knew it was there. They always were. Steve picked himself up from the concrete one more time with a groan, wiping his bloody nose and aching jaw on a threadbare sleeve. Barnes would yell at him for making the stain on the cuff. At this point, all his shirts had faded brown bloodstains on them. The metallic tang of blood was on his tongue. A shiner would be around his eye come morning. Bucky would be asking what trouble he'd gotten himself into this time and his answer would be plain and simple: he was just walking home from high school._

 _Rogers found his books, scattered about him and some pages torn. Luckily his sketchbook made it through this time unscathed. His teachers would scold him again tomorrow for losing his homework and damaging textbooks. A visit to the principal's office or even banishment to the corner of the room for a few hours was not out of the question. Funny, they never seemed to worry about his absences from illness, his rail thin body or the bruises that were being caused by the class pets._

 _Gathering his things, he tucked them under the less sore of his two arms and began to limp home, knowing he'd have to ask Bucky to sew that new hole in the knee of his pants._

 _A few blocks down, a tiny desperate motion caught his eye in an alleyway similar to the one he just left. Steve stopped. His keen eyes saw a body lying on the ground, but it was too short to be one of the bums that frequented these parts. Drawing closer, he heard a low moan and the body moved like someone was hurt._

" _You ok?" Rogers said tentatively, ready to run if it was a bum. They had a nasty habit of robing people sometimes and Steve already had lost enough today._

 _The person on the ground rolled over and a young face Steve recognized turned skyward. It was Robbie Petrino from his class, lip bloodied and a cut over his left eye that oozed blood down the side of his face. He too would have shiners on both eyes come morning. The only difference between him and Steve was Robbie was on the top of the food chain in school. Steve was unfazed that someone else had kicked Robbie's ass. He always was a bit of a showboat._

 _A look of fear crept into Robbie's eyes when he recognized Rogers, "Hey… dontcha tell nobody I got beat, ya' hear!" Blood blended together with his spit as he begged, running down his chin in a thin stream. Steve guessed casually he had some loose teeth in his mouth._

 _Narrowing his eyes feeling callous, Steve growled, "You and who's army gonna stop me?"_

" _If everybody finds out then- " Robbie pleaded seeing his popularity in the neighborhood hanging on by the tenuous thread of Steve's mercy._

" _Then what?" Steve took a confident step forward seeing his enemy on the ground, venom in his voice, "You afraid everybody'd think you're like_ _ **me**_ _?"_

 _Petrino swallowed nervously, barely nodding his head, his brown eyes the size of dinner plates._

 _Steve glanced a quick left and right, entering the alley, dropping his books on the ground. Rogers approached the prone boy, a ferocious glint in his eye. Petrino held his guts with both arms like he'd been pounded good, "Look here you piece of crap, you ain't better than no one! You think just 'cause I'm skinny that you can kick my ass any time you want. Well how's that_ _ **feel,**_ _Robbie? How's that feel to be on the hard ground, blood in_ _ **your**_ _mouth?"_

 _Robbie didn't answer. He was too terrified at the look of wrath on Steve's face._

 _Rogers's vision hazed red in absolute rage. He'd had enough. A cruel smile laced its way across his face in a grimace of vengeance as sparks flew from his eyes as his hands balled into fists._

 _First, it was a kick to Robbie's ribs making him whine in pain to stop, followed by another and another until Rogers could hear his blood singing in his ears. Petrino gasped for breath, his voice tiny because he couldn't inhale. "How's that feel Robbie?!" Steve raged with each kick._

 _Then he took aim at Petrino's face with his fists, pounding him in the head, over and over and over till blood flew from his knuckles with the back swing. A tiny whimpering sound came from Robbie as he tried to shield his head from the blows of the skinny, sick boy he used to whip almost daily._

 _Emotional electricity surged through Rogers like liquid lightening. Steve felt overwhelmingly powerful landing blows anywhere on Robbie's body. His soul delighted in every single sound of pain and suffering he heard. This was_ _ **power**_ _. The darkness enveloped him with promises of retribution to all who had hurt him in the past. This was what it was like to be_ _on top_ _for once. This was…._

" _STEVE STOP IT!" Bucky's voice cut through the crimson haze enveloping Roger's brain. Grabbing Steve's wrist mid strike, Barnes spun him round on his heel as Rogers was about to land another blow on Petrino._

 _In his frenzy, Steve cocked back and slugged Bucky in the chin not realizing who it was. The taller teen staggered back a step, a look of more shock than hurt on his face that his best friend actually punched him. Barnes raised a hand to his chin where a red smear of Petrino's blood from Steve's' knuckles colored his face. A dark look came over Bucky's eyes as he said in a low, disappointed tone, "Your mamma raised you better."_

 _Steve blinked like a deer in headlights, suddenly realizing it was Bucky and not another bully. Looking around, wide eyed, the realization of what he had done suddenly crashed down on him like a ton of bricks. The vision of his mother's face, disapproving, appeared inside his head, making him feel worse. Dropping to his knees beside the badly bloodied Robbie, Steve curled up into a ball and wretched._

" _Steve. It's ok. C'mon. He'll be alright." Barnes said, glancing around for cops and wiping the blood off his chin. "Really. You don't hit that hard. He'll be fine."_

 _Steve said nothing but let the empty, useless sensation of what he had done wash over him like waves crashing upon land. He heard Robbie weeping softly through his swollen face. The darkness receded from his mind leaving him feeling hollow and broken like the prickle of ground glass pressing onto his skin._

" _Rogers! C'mon! Petrino will be fine. You all can kick each others asses another day. Let's go!" Bucky grabbed Steve roughly by the shoulder and yanked him upright and out of the alley, his school books tucked under his other arm._

 _Rogers looked back over his shoulder at the fallen boy and realized that his moment of getting even didn't make him a better man. It diminished his spirit._

* * *

Rogers woke with a start on the living room floor in Barton's house. The summer darkness was warm and comforting with the feeling of a home and love. His breath rose and fell rapidly as his heart hammered in his chest. Beads of sweat tickled his hairline.

" _I don't trust anyone without a dark side."_ Tony's voice sarcastically echoed in Steve's head as he tried to swallow, his throat sandpaper dry. Rogers realized Stark lay just a few feet over on the floor near Banner. Both Avengers slept on without an apparent care in the world.

Dr. Erskine's words echoed from the past, "Good becomes great. Bad becomes worse. This is why you were chosen. Because a strong man who has known power all his life may lose respect for that power. But a weak man knows the value of strength and knows compassion."

With a heavy sigh, Steve rolled over and thought back to Erskine's wisdom and his failing that day with Robbie Petrino. Bucky was right; his momma raised him to be a better man than that. Only he and Rogers and Robbie knew what happened and none spoke of it again. The darkness won that day but Steve vowed to keep it locked away deep.

Staring into the night, Cap tried to push the memory down that he felt creeping up again. It was a failing he had to deal with privately and it was harder without Bucky around. "Maybe you just haven't seen it yet." Rogers had replied to Tony, the knife-edge of his temper taken out on log he ripped in half. Tony looked as astonished as Robbie had that day, but Stark was better at recovering his composure.

Dozing, his mind wandered through a wonderscape of the twenty first century mashed up with days of the past. Battles, explosions, good men dying and Chitauri aliens, Loki's face all mixed and mashed together swirling and reforming into new places and times like a psychedelic kaleidoscope.

 _The train came and Barnes fell. At the base, after Zola had been secured and the mission was complete, he went to the stockade. Steve entered a holding cell of Hydra officers and soldiers. The darkness came again and when it was all over, Phillips almost had Cap court-martialed. A few graves were dug for the POW's. Reports were written and redacted. Phillips made phone calls and an Army psychologist examined the super soldier for signs of shell shock. Everyone treaded a bit lighter around Cap that day and then a few after that too._

 _Steve went to have a drink in a bar, where Peggy found him, feeling sorry he had not only lost Bucky but also dishonored his memory_. "Your mamma raised you better." _whispered in Barnes's voice as he swilled the whiskey that he couldn't get drunk on._

 _He couldn't tell her. Steve desperately wanted to tell someone about his secret darkness when he was so angry the world turned to blood and he could commit murder. But he couldn't. He didn't. The darkness was returned again to the pit of Rogers' being, hopefully never to see the light of day again_.

Steve sat up from his dozing sleep, feeling like he was going to vomit. The steady breathing from Banner and Stark was not comforting. The house was quiet, but not in an eerie way. Getting up, Steve decided to use the restroom. For a big man, he moved quietly until that errant toy was underfoot. Cussing to himself, he hopped one foot to the bathroom.

Flicking on the light, he saw an old man looking at him, blue eyes tired and blood shot. Splashing some water on his face didn't help. Now he was a wet old looking man. The darkness was not in his eyes. When Tony stirred that pot, Steve clamped the lid on tight. Howard apparently didn't tell his son everything about the super soldier. With a heavy sigh, he reflected on Erskine's words, _"Whatever happens tomorrow, you must promise me one thing: that you will stay who you are. Not a perfect soldier, but a good man."_ Hanging his head to stare at the porcelain sink, Cap felt the strain of guilt like a vise on his neck like it would break in two.

Erskine didn't see it. He never saw that dark side and believed Steve was that 'good man' till his last breath. Steve felt like a cheap fraud.

Stark hasn't seen it. But he was suspecting and infinitely irritating.

Cap looked up into the mirror. A flicker, a shard of it was there, lurking, waiting.

Maybe if he was careful, Steve could keep the world from seeing his dark side.


	2. Chapter 2

It always starts with the drumming. His own heart begins pounding in his ears like a distant roll of thunder echoing off mountains or the roar of the sea. Sometimes, it was the report of cannons in the field as infantry advanced in his combat dreams. Regardless, the darkness always starts with the drums.

Tossing and turning on his bed in the new Avengers headquarters, the room is hot as an oven even if the thermostat registered a chilly sixty-five degrees. The fire was burning him from the inside as he took a frightened look down and jumped the chasm to Bucky, _"Not without you!"_ James' blue eyes wide and terrified but the brilliant light of loyalty in them was a beacon to Rogers. Steve misses his outstretched hand, watching Barnes fade away above, a soul-rending scream emanating from Bucky.

Swirling tornados of fire singe him, making him shriek in agony as he falls through them, bombs exploding all around. Laughing faces of foes long dead point and jeer. Suddenly, he is only a weakling again, throwing punches with scrawny arms, flailing uselessly against the bigger boys. He keeps falling. In the madness, Erskine appears and looks at him sad and disappointed. Rogers calls out to him for help. The white lab-coated scientist turns away. The Red Skull's face cackling madly, swallows him whole in a blazing sphere of flame.

Cold. Bone breaking cold envelops him. "There's not enough time!" He hears the fear in his own voice. Peggy's accent comes to him in broken static. Steve knows what she said but wishes he could hear it clearly for _one last time_. Before the impact and cabin slowly filling with shockingly cold water that takes your breath away. _One more time_ , before the darkness fills his eyes, lungs and numbs his brain to oblivion.

His sheet is tangled around him like a snare, twisted like a snake over his body. The mattress feels like pavement, rough on his cheek. Cars swirl around him in a river of sound. Rogers can feel their wind pulling at his clothes as they pass by as if he's not there lying on the ground. They look foreign to him; all shiny and smooth edged like something from Starks World Expo. Lights of every color shine down upon him. Noise of crowds fills the air. " At ease, soldier." Fury's voice reverberates, "You've been asleep, Cap. For almost 70 years."

Steve looks up at Nick Fury from the ground as if he were a hundred feet tall. Whispers of the dead come back to him as the traffic of Times Square flows like water threatening to drown him. Nick dissipates like a ghost.

"Did you respect your friend?" Peggy's voice asks sharply, eyes burning with anger at him. Her arms are crossed over her neatly pressed brown wool uniform. Carter's scarlet lips are drawn in an accusatory thin line. He knows she's mad at him for a host of things. Steve can barely hold her gaze, feeling shame and regret rise up beside him like two demons waiting to devour him.

Roger's mouth moves soundlessly. He never gets to say what he wants to here.

"Then you better well respect his choice. He must have damn well thought you were worth it." She scolds him and turns on her heel, walking proudly away.

The darkness shifts in his body like a weight pinning him down so he can't move. Breathing is hard with the guilt pressing upon his chest. Rogers gasps for air.

Bucky's pale face looms white above him, cuts and bruises scattered over it, veiled in stringy brown hair like a terrible angel. His blue eyes are huge and horrified, metal fist cocked back ready to strike. It breaks Cap's heart ever time he sees his best friend like that, bloodied, broken and damaged.

Rogers can't move. Barnes is holding him down and is about to deal the deathblow. Steve welcomes it. It will end this darkness inside him, quell the terrors in his soul and finally let him rest in peace.

"Trouble sleeping?" Fury suggests rhetorically in the empty airspace where time is frozen and still. Explosions are beautiful orange and yellow flaming flowers, shrapnel glints in the sunlight like snowflakes.

Steve closes his eyes as he feels the helicarrier break apart under him sending him crashing downward to the river below.

Steve gets to speak in this part of the dream, "They didn't say what we lost." The heartbreak shadows his words. The darkness moves within him like an oily liquid, bathing every part of him in dark murderous thoughts.

The water hits him hard.

Steve launches himself from the bed like it shocked him, tearing the sheets away that entangle him. Bent over, hands on his knees, he heaves for breath. Drips of sweat fall from his nose. Eventually his knees give way and he crashes to the floor on all fours, gasping.

The door to his room slides open. It can only be one person because he only gave one person his door code: Barnes.

"Steve?" the quiet voice of the assassin asks gently. He makes no motion to touch Rogers.

Rogers rolls to the side putting a hip on the floor, leaning on one arm, looking up at his best friend. "Good morning." Steve tries humor to disguise the sweat rivulets covering his face and soaking his shirt. The bed is a disaster. He can feel the darkness receding into the cracks in his soul to terrorize him another day. A shudder runs over his body.

Bucky states plainly, "Actually, it's about 1am."

Steve wearily looks down at the floor and sighs, finally having caught his breath, "It's going to be a long night."

"'Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting that would not let me sleep.'" Bucky replied solemnly. Rogers looks up at him quizzically, "Hamlet." James replies expressionlessly.

"When did you learn Shakespeare?" Steve inquired, finding his legs.

The two men look at each other in shared pain; Barnes still not himself since Falcon found him and neither is Rogers after Tony exposed the darkness while fighting Ultron.

"I had a lot of time to… read. When you were scrawny and sick." Bucky chose his words carefully as if speaking was still a novelty to him. The memories of their friendship were slowly returning like bits of scattered paper to be made whole again.

Rogers put a gentle hand on his friends' right shoulder. "Thanks for checking on me."

"You would… do the same for me." Barnes replied, meeting his friend's gaze. The light of loyalty was still there in his eyes, despite all that Hydra had done to him.

For Steve, that would always be the light to chase the darkness away.


	3. Chapter 3

Take Me to Church

 **A/N: I've been looking for an excuse to incorporate the song "Take Me to Church" by Hozier because it has so many relevant themes. My obvious choice was Bucky as a recovery/guilt story, but then I got to thinking and maybe,** _ **just maybe**_ **, it's more for Cap. (Bucky is written here a bit more 'newly damaged' than in my other fics). Please let me know what you think. I am assuming the new Avengers HQ is in upstate NY. It looked like that kind of area at the end of** _ **Avengers: Age of Ultron**_ **. It is mentioned in the comics that Steve is Catholic.**

"Feeling ok, Cap?" Falcon asked noncommittally at breakfast in the mess hall as he sat himself down across from the super soldier. Sam's eyes followed Steve's distracted gaze carefully, ever the therapist, watching for the slightest hint of change. Since the Ultron debacle with Stark, there was an imperceptible shift in the climate between Steve and the rest of the team. Wilson felt it. He knew the others would too, in time, and that might rip them apart, again from the inside.

It was less a 'mess hall' and more like a restaurant to Steve, who gazed vacantly around the large eating room furnished with sleek grey and black modern chairs and tables. Tasteful modern art hung on the creamy walls that would never suggest they were several floors below ground or made of bombproof concrete. Voices ebbed and flowed with an easy-going cadence punctuated by laugher, smiles, greetings or good byes. Soft ambient light set the mood of conversation and teambuilding. Everyone in the Avengers headquarters ate here, but this corner was known as Barnes's favorite because there was always a wall to his back and he could see the whole space. If you were looking for Steve at mealtime you'd find him here.

Sam waited about ten seconds past normal then asked again, "Cap? You ok?"

Rogers blinked coming out of whatever reverie he was in, "Yeah. Fine."

"Hmm." Sam left it alone for now but filed it as he peppered his hash browns and took a forkful of omelet. "Got any plans today?" Falcon noticed that Cap barely touched his oatmeal, fruit and milk. Steve began to get that lost look in his eyes again, observing the room.

Rogers' blue gaze slid unenthusiastically over to look at Wilson. "I'm not at liberty to discuss that with you, recruit." Rogers' mouth smiled but his eyes didn't.

Wilson chuckled it off, sipping his coffee, "I see. So that's how it is, now. Ok. Fine."

"It is." Steve responded, folding his knuckles under his nose, expression contemplative.

Falcon continued to eat, absorbing every move Cap didn't make.

* * *

"Try it. Again." Natasha drilled Wanda who was encircled in a fading wreath of red smoke. Her arms drooped at her sides, clearly exhausted. The training room was filled with various weapons that Natasha was teaching Wanda to use both with her physical and psychic abilities. Sweat beaded down Wanda's face and matted her hair in long streaks. Romanoff looked cool as an iceberg in her black cat suit, red hair pulled back into a bun looking every inch the ballerina she used to be.

Weariness hung on Wanda like a cloak; Steve observed as he posted up against the wall, arms tensely crossed over his chest, blue eyes hooded. He knew that feeling. The weight of the world, the responsibility of holding such great power in your hands and what temptation it was to use it for the lesser good, to use it for only yourself.

"Again!" Natasha commanded, her voice icy, green eyes piercing.

"I … I can't!" Maximoff cried, sagging further. In her heart, she missed Pietro terribly. He was always the smile and laugh when things got tough. Right now, she needed his ridiculousness. Why did she ever think _she_ , a gypsy orphan, could be an Avenger? What had she gotten herself into?

Natasha crossed the space between them in three commanding strides, placing her hands on Wanda's shoulders. Maximoff looked up at the red haired assassin, feeling the tears pooling along her lashes, "I can't. It's too hard. I have disappointed you."

Romanoff took a breath to steady herself not wanting to treat this girl like she had been in the Red Room. When she felt her voice would be calm, she said, "There is no shame in failure. Only when you fail to try again."

A hiccup bubbled up from Wanda as she suppressed a sob. A few tears splashed on her cheek and a meek smile inched its way across her lips. "Alright. I will try. Again."

"That's the spirit." Natasha smiled broadly and then glanced past Maximoff's shoulder at the wall. Steve had left.

* * *

Bucky was in therapy with Sam. There was a secret observation window disguised as decorative photograph hanging on the wall in the treatment room. Rogers stood like a malevolent force in the office behind it watching but not able to hear a word. He intentionally left the microphone off. He knew what James' voice would do to him and his darkness was not far away.

Sam leaned in from the upholstered armchair, elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. A kind and open look upon his face, he asked Barnes a question.

James sat stiffly in a matching armchair as if he had forgotten how to relax. Being thawed and refrozen over the span of seventy years will do that to a person. His hair was neatly combed into a ponytail behind him, a grey S.H.I.E.L.D. t-shirt on his muscular frame, hands in his lap.

After a moment of apparent contemplation, Barnes answered very simply, face a mask of calm. His left hand twitched as if he was trying to remember how to physically emote with his words.

Sam smiled warmly at him like he heard what he wanted to hear, leaning back, crossing his leg at the ankle, picture of ease. He said something to James who imitated Wilson by crossing his leg too. Barnes replied also cracking a rudimentary smile, a shard of an old twinkle in his eye.

Steve felt his heart swell in his chest as he unconsciously raised his hand to his mouth. That was the first real glimpse of Bucky he'd seen since Wilson found him. His friend was _coming back_.

But so was the darkness.

Ultron's memory flashed in Steve's mind suddenly and he squeezed his eyes shut in response to block them out. Tony's inane philosophies bubbled forth like black gelatinous goo and all the trouble they had created poured out triggering older festering wounds to bleed.

Pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets to erase the visions, Rogers bolted from the room. He knew a place to go… to escape.

* * *

The tiny parish church was not far from the Avengers headquarters down several two-laned rural roads. Steve's motorcycle seemed to find it without direction from him. Killing the engine, he kicked down the stand and approached the small white-clapboarded building with a quaint bell tower, the bronze bell silent. A simple cross was positioned over the double-hung black doors. _St. Michael's_ it read in neatly painted letters in carved wood. To the right hung a small sign with the Mass schedule and the Sacrament of Reconciliation times.

Today was his lucky day.

Inhaling a steadying breath, Steve grasped the wrought iron handle and pulled. The overwhelming scent of myrrh and frankincense filled his nostrils along with floor polish and candle wax. A vivid memory of his mother and every Sunday as a child roared forward like a tidal wave with the smells. A tornado of long dead voices, faces and hymns ripped into his awareness making him sway where he stood. Clutching the handle with a vengeance, he didn't want to fall.

 _It was a regular Sunday in the summer time. Church was hot and stifling as parishioners fanned themselves with the bulletins or newspaper they carried with them for that purpose. Sweat trickled down Steve's scrawny neck, past his neatly clipped hairline into the yellow stained starched collar of his only 'white' button down shirt. His sport coat felt itchy and his pants were too short because his Mom hadn't found time (or money) to get him a new pair of trousers and he couldn't fit into his dad's. His father had been gone now for about six months. The bereavement-relief home cooked meals from the other parishioners had long dried up. They were back to what little they could afford on her meager nurses' salary. The Depression seemed to wring the life out of everyone these days._

 _Sarah was sitting still as a stone; hands clenched around her Bible and a lace handkerchief, eyes straight ahead like one of the statuary in the church. Beads of sweat threatened to run down her face from her carefully coifed hairline._

 _Rogers speculated that she was searching for some solace since her husband passed. He missed his dad too, but since he was gone so much with the Army, not having him around was nothing new. His heart hurt for his mom, though. It bothered him greatly that she was suffering and that made him angry that his dad would be taken away from her too soon for what appeared no particular reason._

 _Sarah Rogers didn't talk to her son much about her feelings, but he knew she cried at night when she thought he couldn't hear her. What she didn't know was her son heard and saw a lot more than she gave him credit for. Being a sick weakling sharpens your senses. Sitting still himself, he listened to the Latin droning on and on, the papers crinkling as they waved back and forth and he wondered why the good people of the world had to suffer. In his slow boiling meditation he made a resolution to make the world a better place, come Hell or high water, for everyone but particularly his mom._

 _Father O'Rourke, his back to the faithful, had just finished chanting the Latin for the Communion, barely audible to the sweltering congregation. The attendants flanked him, motioning through the Mass rites._

 _Steve's stomach growled angrily at him and he watched the procession of the gifts to the altar._

Steve shook himself from the vision and looked around. The neat rows of plain wood pews stretched towards the modest wood altar and tabernacle behind. A few stained glass windows filtered light in a rainbow of colors across the nut-brown wood floor and white walls. A piano sat to the right of the altar. Flanking the tabernacle were painted wood statues of Mary and Joseph.

He stepped cautiously from the vestibule to the center aisle, his shoes making the old floorboards squeak. A black suited man leaned over from the left front pew, turning partially towards Steve, "Is someone there?"

Rogers could see he was wearing blackout glasses and a cane sat nearby. The priests' collar highlighted his neck.

"I know every sound in this building and I can tell you're still there. Can I help you?" the priest chuckled lightly, pivoting on his seat to more fully face the back of the church.

Steve felt his cheeks color in shame for being surprised that the priest was blind and being quiet would fool him. Clearing his throat, Rogers replied, "Father?

"Yes?" the priest replied, "If you're expecting the 'my son' bit, that's not my style. Too George Lucas, Darth Vader."

Rogers smirked, "I got that reference." He began to approach but then stopped suddenly to retreat a few steps to the bowl of holy water nearby to cross himself.

"Old habits die hard, don't they?" the priest remarked, slinging an elbow over the back of the pew.

"Um. Yeah they do." Steve answered sheepishly not sure how to handle this plainspoken priest, approaching again, his steps echoing strangely in the empty church.

"From the city, eh?" the priest stood up from his seat. Rogers could see he was probably in his late 50's or early 60's.

"Is it the accent?" Rogers replied hearing Brooklyn in his mouth.

"No. Your walk. It's heavy and stressed." The priest stuck out his hand, "Father William. But you can call me Bill, if that makes you more at ease."

Cap accepted the handshake firmly then stood there ill at ease. Bill waited for Steve to state his purpose. Looking away nervously, Steve realized how idiotic he must look since Bill couldn't see him at all. "I've come for confession."

"Ah. I knew you'd get to the point eventually. Feeling a bit lost? A word of advice-if you wait patiently enough, your path will come to you." The dark glasses punctuated Bill's smile. Father gestured with his hand, "Have a seat!"

Steve fidgeted in place, "There isn't a confessional or anything here?"

Bill sobered a bit, "Nope. This is a very small parish. New Albany actually wanted to shut us down and merge us with the next town. But somehow, we've avoided that. Let's just say, I haven't married or baptized anyone in a long time."

"I see. So just out here." Steve gestured to himself.

"Better ventilation. Not that small dark spaces bother me, or anything. " Bill quipped. Rogers began to feel more comfortable with the affable priest.

"Well. Ok then." Cap cleared his throat, "Forgive me Father for I have sinned."

Bill reached out and strangely touched Steve exactly on the shoulder, like a good friend, "Let's have a seat. I think you just need someone to talk to, instead of confess."

Both men sat in the front pew, hands folded neatly between their knees, contemplating the altar for a moment. The candles flickered delicately in their glass hurricanes. Steve was intensely aware that he had so much to get out and yet no idea of what to say. He felt like he had a foot on a landmine: one wrong move and… boom.

"You know, combat is hard. Fighting for what you think is right. Who is it that decides it's right or not? Who is the 'good guy'." Bill asked to the air in front of him.

"Fighting?" Steve asked, giving the priest a sidelong look.

"Hocus-pocus aside, I've been blind almost all my life. You learn to listen and feel that you can't see. Part of why I became a priest. I don't know your name, but I know you're a fighter. You wear it. It's your shield." Bill said frankly, still looking ahead.

"I must admit, that's a bit creepy." Cap acknowledged, his pulse racing threatening a headache.

"Yeah. And I've been told I can do culinary magic with chili at the big cook off we have here in the fall." Bill chuckled. "No matter. I can feel your tension."

"That obvious." Steve sighed, slouching some as he resigned himself to Bills' assessment.

"Yup. And I know your conflict. So much has changed. What are you fighting for? Who is right? Who is wrong?" Bill said almost wistfully still not looking directly at Cap.

"Got any answers?" Rogers asked, hopeful.

Finally, Bill turned his head, "Unfortunately, I only know the Church's side. It's worked for me all these years."

"What… love one another? Turn the other cheek? I've noticed that's not 'worked' for me all these years." Steve's voice became hard as steel. The darkness began to slither out and coil itself around him.

Bill was quiet for a moment as if he could sense the ferocity that was bottled up inside Cap. The air seemed electrified between them. The priest said quietly and gently, "I prefer to mix my New and Old Testament for those who have seen combat and violence. 'A time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace.' Ecclesiastes. And also a little Mathew, 'But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.'"

"So a few kind words before bed is supposed to cure my ills?" Steve spat angrily. Tony's smirking face with Ultron behind him loomed large in his memory.

Bill turned sharply to look at Rogers, "No. No it's not. 'God helps those who help themselves'."

"Which one is that? Old or New Testament?" Cap growled, his eyes flinty as he battled with the vines of black in his soul.

"Neither. Ben Franklin." Bill replied soothingly, "Son, you need to get that anger out of you. It's eating you alive. Have you called the VA? They have therapy groups for PTSD. Was it Afghanistan?"

Steve took in several breaths as his fury boiled over inside. Leaning forward on his knees, Steve tried to block out the pain, his voice a taut wire. "All my life, I've tried to do the right thing. That's all I wanted. To make my mom feel safe and secure after my dad died. To get rid of the bullies, the mean people… evil. That's all I've ever wanted. I've worked so hard to achieve that."

Rolling on that emotion Bill stated, "And you don't feel appreciated?"

"No. It's not that at all. Just stupid people making stupid choices that make my life so much more difficult. If they'd only do it the right way!" Steve spat seeing shadows in the periphery of his vision.

"Commanding officers?" Bill queried.

"My friend." Cap's voice sounded hollow. The church suddenly felt icy cold.

"Oh." Bill sounded surprised then added, "Men in positions of control often lose sight of their power."

Rogers paused for a moment in his bottled up tirade, balling his fists feeling Erskine's worlds echo back. It was _so hard_ to be that good man.

"Yeah, they do." Steve stood up abruptly not feeling much calmer, "Thank you, Father, for your time."

Bill rose as well, sticking out a hand, "Anytime. Come see me again, when you feel the need."

Rogers looked at the chipper Bill and suddenly he felt a bit stronger. But only by a fraction. The darkness retreated against the light. Accepting his handshake, "I'll keep that in mind."

Steve turned and retreated to the main doors. Bill stood, hand on the pew end, listening to the super soldier go. In his heart he sent out a prayer to watch over all the Avengers, but especially Captain America. He was going to need all the help he could get.


	4. Chapter 4

"You know, I've read the SSR Files. 'Greatest Generation'? You guys did some nasty stuff." Nick fury said, glowering at Cap's lack of enthusiasm for Project Insight as the ships sat like monoliths of death behind them.

Cap gave him a steely gaze as the recollecting of what they 'did' in WW2 was flung into his face. "Yeah. We compromised. Sometimes in ways that made us not sleep so well. But we did it so people could be free. This isn't freedom." He waved dismissively to the helicarriers behind him, "This is fear."

Nick looked down his nose at the super soldier and stepped forward aggressively. "S.H.I.E.L.D. takes the world as it **is** , not as we'd **like** it to be. It's getting damn near past time for you to get with that _program_ , Cap." _That includes the evil I can see inside you_. Suddenly, Nick Fury's face split into two halves. Reaching up, Fury pulled the skin back with a wet slapping sound and exposed the Red Skull beneath. Steve stood frozen in horror.

Then he shot Cap in the chest.

* * *

Steve sat up straight in bed, panting. Sweat ran rivulets down his scalp to soak his damp white t-shirt with even more perspiration. His sheets were balled up on the floor in his bedroom located in the new Avengers building. Glancing at the clock, it was two in the morning. Scraping a hand down his face, Rogers sighed closing his eyes. Nightmare, right on time, just like… always.

Deciding he needed some air, he swung his feet over onto the cool pressed concrete floor and stood up. He stripped the bed, tossed the sheets into the laundry basket and remade his bed with fresh linens. As far as he knew, only he and Barnes did their own housekeeping instead of the Avenger staff. It was the joke of the HQ, but they shrugged it off as just being 'old fashioned. What Steve and James didn't tell anyone was that occasionally Mrs. Rogers and Mrs. Barnes took maid jobs on the side for extra money during the Depression. That made Bucky and he acutely aware of servitude, paid or otherwise, and dammit all if they were going to have someone _else_ clean up after _them_.

Rinsing briefly in the sink of his bathroom, Rogers slipped a clean shirt over his torso and exited his apartment. Needing to feel the real night air, instead of this filtered subterranean atmosphere, he rode the elevator up to the ground floor.

Stepping out, barefoot, Steve entered the large atrium where he and Black Widow had conversed a few days before meeting their new Avenger recruits. The glass walls appeared to be black opaque liquid from the lack of a moon. It was silent as a tomb. A few stars twinkled at Cap like angles winking mischievous eyes at him. With a small smile, he thought about how as a kid he and Bucky would climb up to the rooftops of their tenements and stare at the night sky. James would rattle off all the constellations he had read about and Steve would imagine what going to the moon would feel like. Back then, you could see the stars in New York but no longer with the omnipresent streetlights and advertising billboards. In a way, Steve was grateful Stark built the new Avengers HQ so far from the city, even if he missed the energy of the urban landscape. There was a different peace to be found here that he first experienced at Hawkeye's home.

Quiet footsteps brought him to the exit and he greeted the night watch with a small wave. They smartly saluted him, which made him wince internally since this was not the Army anymore and he was not technically due any military courtesy.

The glass door hissed open and he left the atrium. The HQ was partially buried into a hillside like a sod house of the open prairies. Rogers turned his feet off the concrete steps and onto the lush lawn that comprised the "roof" of the HQ. Being a city boy, who was rarely well enough to go to the park, the feeling of grass underfoot was strangely liberating. The summer night air was cool and smelled of plants, damp earth and quiet.

Steve found a place he liked and sat down, his pajama pants soaking up the dew from the ground, but he didn't care. Hugging his knees to his chest, he looked up at the sky, trying to clear his head. Swirls of thoughts tumbled in his mind like clothes in a laundromat: over and over and swishing to and fro in a wash of confusion.

Crickets chirped around him, crystalizing one memory, unbidden.

* * *

 _The march from Azano was long, difficult and terrifying. Steve, though feeling slightly more confident, was still frightened inside after what he had witnessed in the Hydra base. The sheer magnitude of what the Red Skull was planning was almost inconceivable. What they had done to Bucky was unforgivable. Rogers let that singular thought stoke the fire of vengeance in his belly to calm any fears he might have._

 _Barnes marched beside him, against Cap's wishes. His eyes hollow, sunken and skin ashy, James plodded on beside his best friend the thirty-mile hike back to camp. There were times he stumbled, Steve grabbed his arm to hold him up and regain his footing. They exchanged looks. Steve implored with his eyes, "Bucky, ride on the tank. Rest!"_

 _Barnes would glare back, silently, "Hell no."_

 _With a resigned headshake, Steve would let Barnes go._

 _They marched on._

 _At camp, before a flabbergasted Col. Philips, Rogers made his triumphant return with most of the 107_ _th_ _, several Hydra tanks, and many Hydra POW's. Bucky exclaimed for the equally shocked and newly invigorated crowd with the remainder of his strength, "Hey! Let's here it for Captain America!"_

 _Well-wishers pressed forward like a wave to touch the heroic Cap. Steve absorbed praise and accolades for the first time in his life instead of putdowns and insults. Barnes was shoved back, in his weakened state to the edge of the crowd, unable to compete with the excited troops who surrounded him. No one seemed to notice._

 _Out of the corner of his eye, while in the midst of the revelry, Steve saw Bucky crumple to the ground, rifle falling to his side._

" _Bucky! Medics!" Rogers' face became panicked as he pushed through the excited throng to be by Barnes' side. When he got to James, Cap pulled him into his arms, "Bucky! Hang on."_

 _Barnes' eyes fluttered open from the depths of his eye sockets, "When you'd get so big?"_

 _Rogers realized he was delirious, "I joined the army." he replied with a sad smile._

 _The camp fell silent except for the call for a stretcher and doctors. The weight of a thousand eyes fell upon them, crushing._

 _Steve felt James' quick breathing and rapid pulse as if he was trying to run away from his own body. "Hold on, pal. We're getting a doctor. Stupid, stubborn… jackass!"_

" _Language." Bucky whispered back, eyes sliding closed, body going limp._

" _Bucky!" Steve cried out._

 _The shroud of darkness wrapped itself around Steve's heart and squeezed tight._

* * *

Rogers buried his head into his knees, pressing as hard as he could as if to crush the horrible conclusion of this memory out of his mind. Unfortunately it didn't work. The blackness continued to flow forth unabated.

* * *

" _Captain Rogers, I'm sorry. We're doing all we can for him right now." The chief medical officer of the camp implored, holding his hands up in supplication. Steve's face was a mixture of rage and worry as he tried to see past the white-coated physician toward the flurry of activity around Barnes's cot._

" _You better damn well be sure you're doing all you can or there will be Hell to pay." Steve snapped, eyes blazing, spinning on his heel away from the tent. He needed answers to help Bucky, now. He knew where he could get some._

 _Philips intercepted him a few feet away from the tent. Experience had taught him that war not only breaks people but also forges the strongest bonds possible between friends. His only concern was this would break Cap. "Rogers! Captain Rogers. Stop."_

 _Steve steamed on towards the POW holding area. The Hydra agents were separated into two groups, soldiers and the technicians who they caught before they bit their cyanide teeth. Cap was going towards the technicians' side._

" _Captain Steven Grant Rogers. I command you to stop." Chester called out in his most stern voice._

 _The good man in Steve made him stop, very reluctantly. Phillips reached the distraught super soldier in a few steps and it was plain to see the man was conflicted. Caps' shoulders rose and fell with his breathing as if he had just run a marathon, his eyes darted about with impatience. Chester snapped, "Just what in the hell do you think you are going to solve? You think those Frankensteins in there know anything more than us? I doubt it. Schmidt is too clever to put all his eggs in one basket. "_

 _The furious blue eyes of Steve bore into Phillips war-hardened ones, "Well, if I don't try, we'll never know will we?" A cruel smile pulled on Rogers's lips._

" _I'm not sure this is what Erskine intended for you." Chester retorted, still blocking his way._

" _Erskine is dead. And you shuttled me off to be a sideshow. Don't tell me about intentions." Steve said acidly and stepped around the senior officer back onto his original path. "Maybe, if you're lucky, I'll find out something useful for you too."_

 _Chester was about to reply, but then shut his mouth, knowing Cap was right. There were ways of finding things out in war. Sometimes they were not too pretty. But they were effective._

* * *

" _You let him go where?" Peggy's voice was edging on the higher notes. She'd never let herself be shrill, but Phillips was pushing it. Carter missed Bucky's collapse but had been looking for Steve since he returned._

" _He's in the POW tent. Interrogating techs for information about Zola and whatever they did to Seargent Barnes." Chester casually omitted that Steve had been there for about two hours._

 _She gave Philips a cold look, "Sometimes, Colonel, even_ _ **you**_ _surprise me."_

 _Chester's face remained immovable, keeping his thoughts to himself._

 _Carter took that as a dismissal so she took it and made a beeline for the POW encampment._

 _When she reached the area, the guards stepped in front of her, "Sorry ma'am. We can't let you in there."_

" _And why not?" she snapped, eyes blazing._

 _One guard looked toward the other, swallowing, trying to think of what to say finally coming up with, "Ma'am, there's things in there no woman should see."_

" _And I've seen too much here already. Let me pass." Peggy pushed forward as the men gave way. Neither of them wanted to confront a woman, let alone lose if she chose to show them who was boss._

 _Not bothering to look back, Peggy made her way through the lines of shabby, mud-covered tents, each with a guard standing before it. Her ears directed her towards some low moaning that seemed to be out of place besides the muttered curses and lame come-ons thrown at her in German._

 _Turning right there was an open area, walled by three sides where the prisoners showered. Carter held her breath as the sight filled her eyes. Steve had a man by the hair, bent backwards as if to break his spine, spittle dripping from his lips like a rabid dog. The face of the man was almost indistinguishable as human. A low moan escaped him as blood bubbled from his lips. Two other Hydra scientists lay crumpled in a scarlet heap a few feet away._

" _TELL ME!" Rogers bellowed like a lion, muscles bulging in fury, face contorted in rage._

" _Steve!" Carter's voice was a sword through flesh, cutting into the crimson haze of the moment._

 _Roger's face turned toward the sound in slow motion, droplets of sweat and blood mixing on his forehead and cheeks. Sluggishly, his blue eyes widened with surprise._

 _Peggy made no move towards him. In a low, quiet, hurt voice she said, "Steve. How could you?"_

 _Cap looked quickly at the beaten man in his grasp and then back at Peggy, who had left the scene. The devil danced beside him, grinning from ear to ear. Steve released the man's hair and lowered him to the ground mechanically as if in shock._

 _Gazing down, blood saturated his hands, colored his clothes with pricks of red. Puddles of gore surrounded his feet. In the end, he hadn't learned anything new at all. Phillips was right; Schmidt was too clever._

 _Erskine's voice returned to mock him, "Where is the good man now? Where is the little guy? I am ashamed of you. You are a_ _ **monster,**_ _just like Schmidt."_

 _Captain America staggered to the side of the wash area, dropped to his knees and vomited, sick of himself. The tides of guilt assaulted him for his personal failure and scalding hot tears of shame poured from his eyes as he crouched on all fours like a dog in the mud._

 _How could Peggy ever look at him the same again? Was he worthy of Bucky's friendship?_

 _What kind of man was he?_

* * *

Steve clamped down on the memory finally, gasping for air in the cool night. The crickets kept chirping in time with his racing heartbeat. The tears of long ago pricked at the corners of his eyes. Blinking, he willed them away, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

Looking skyward again as he rose from the hillside, he thought of Erskine and prayed silently that he could forgive Steve for using his work not always for good. He was a man after all and men make mistakes. Cap pleaded that he had made his mistakes for the right reasons and best intentions.

Feeling he was being watched, Rogers turned quickly, nerves taut. "Do you always star gaze in your pajamas, Rogers?" Black Widow materialized out of the gloom.

Steve suddenly felt self conscious, "Um. No. Just some… things running through my head."

"Tell them to take a lap. You need some sleep." she replied, pushing her hair from her eyes. "You are older, you know."

"And you?" he changed the subject, ignoring the age jab.

"C'mon Rogers. A lady never reveals her secrets." She smiled slyly.

"Bad dreams too, hmm?" he filled in.

"Maybe." Her eyes looked at the grass between their feet. "Amazing how when you think you're doing the right thing for the right reasons, it's a total miss?"

Steve's eyebrows arched upward. Why was it that he and she seemed on the same page so often? Was it their training? Was it their combat history? What ever it was, it comforted him in a strange way. "Yes. I do. I've made quite a few over my … long life."

"Well, past is in the past, right. Best we can do is live here in the now. Carpe diem right?" Natasha quipped nervously, looking like she was trying to brush off cold. Her green eyes darted about uneasily like a small ship lacking an anchor.

"Yup. And the diem is almost here. Want some coffee?" Cap offered, feeling a mutual connection that began to melt the bloody memory from his mind.

"Sure. Just don't wake up Barnes. He's a mess in the morning." Widow offered, looking more settled with the offer of a hot beverage and conversation.

"And how do you know that?" Steve asked, surprised.

"Woman's intuition." Natasha winked and led the way back to the HQ leaving their respective ghosts on the hillside for now.


	5. The Perfect Day

A Perfect Day

A/N—Spoilers—set early on in Captain America: Civil War.

Funerals were not for sunny days. Steve leaned heavily on the ancient oak, his black suit coated shoulder pressing into the weathered and craggy surface as the sunlight dappled the ground all around him. Birds sang serenely above while puffy white clouds drifted by without a care in the world. A perfect day. The black draped onlookers and family had departed, holding onto each other for support as soft sobs had punctuated the bird song. The flowers they had brought littered the ground around the grave, mostly Tudor roses in a mix of white and red. The scent was mesmerizing like Peggy's perfume had been. Sam offered to stay with Steve but he waived him on. Even Natasha couldn't convince Cap to let her stay by his side while he had a private moment. The rest of the Avengers, except Tony Stark, left Rogers to be alone with his memories.

Lifting his blood shot eyes from the tips of his shoes to the grave only a few feet away, it felt like his own body was six feet under that soil that the groundskeepers were now replacing. Each shovel full was a knife in his heart. _Drowning_. He was drowning in dirt, clogging his nose and mouth, eyes and ears. He couldn't see as the grief piled upon him scoop by scoop. Crumbling to the ground, he slid down the trunk tearing his coat and pressed his forehead against his knees, wrapping his arms around his shins. The tears were hot, like blood, pouring down his cheeks.

Margaret Carter. His Peggy was right there. He owed her a dance. He never came home. She moved on without him. She lived her life minus him and now he was all alone. She was gone. Bucky was gone. All that he had left was now a memory.

The heartrending sobs went unnoticed by the gravediggers. They were used to the bereaved and paid no attention, even if it was Captain America having an emotional crisis.

Time slipped away from Steve as he let the emotions he kept bottled up for so long wash painfully over him like battery acid eating through layers of hardened metal. His shield was vibranium, but his heart wasn't. Walls he maintained for so long began to crumble as if he had reached the end of his rope and was dangling by the thinnest of threads.

"It's hard, isn't it." Came a voice from slightly behind the tree.

Steve didn't hear it right away but then grabbed onto that declaration like it was the last thing to save his sanity before his thoughts became too black. Looking up from his seated position, tears staining his cheeks, skin blotchy and eyes puffy from crying, he saw a silhouette backlit in sunlight. It was a woman, almost angelic with the beams of light streaming from around her but he couldn't make out the face.

"It's hard, Steve. It's ok. You don't have to do this alone." Sharon Carter said and then stepped to the side and folded her legs down beside him, facing the grave. She looked solemnly towards it.

Roger's throat couldn't form coherent words so he sat silently, following her gaze.

"Aunt Peggy used to tell me stories about the war when I was a teen." Sharon began with a small smile of remembrance. "Dum Dum and Morita being crazy. Gabe always quoting some book or fact…they used to call him the egghead. Jacques blowing everything up in sight and forcing everyone to learn a little French because he refused to speak English. Bucky was trying to hit on anything with two legs and boobs. And Falsworth… she had a fondness for him since they were both British. She said that except for Dugan, they could both drink all the others under the table."

Steve composed himself a bit more but still not finding his voice. Sharon not talking to Steve directly, but more to the air, continued. "So she told me all the great stories about you and the guys. It was my version of classic fairy tales." Steve watched her, comforted by her voice, "But they way she told them, with such love and caring I knew that these were the real deal and what a great book she could write, if she chose to. As a kid, I thought they were just great adventures. Now, looking back, I see you all were something incredibly special to her. You all were her family and she was proud to be a part. It took all of your talents together to make the right things happen. I know she was fulfilled by her work. She was proud of all you guys, her brothers…. Well…. Except for you." Sharon glanced at Steve, blushing slightly remembering who she was talking to.

The corners of his mouth ticked upward just barely but then the sadness began to crash over his blue, blood shot eyes. He had deserted her when she needed him most.

"No. Don't cry, Steve. She loved you always." Sharon wrapped her arm through his and leaned upon his shoulder. Feeling him stiffen she comforted, "When I decided to join S.H.I.E.L.D. it was because of her influence. She took me aside one day, away from Uncle Daniel, and sat me down. She told me love is the greatest gift anyone could give to another person, whether you were family, a lover or a friend. I think she was trying to warn me that love and a S.H.I.E.L.D. career don't mix… easily. I should choose carefully and be sure this was what I wanted. Aunt Peggy explained she never regretted her work that took you away from her because the right thing had to be done and you'd understand that." Steve closed his eyes for a moment and he was back in the cockpit of the _Valkyrie_ heading for the ice. Yes, he understood completely because he knew he'd chose that fate again to save the world. "But she told me she would love you till the end because it was the one gift she could still give you in life or death."

"But I left her." Rogers whispered with a raw throat, opening his eyes and looking at Sharon.

"But she never left you." Sharon smiled a warm, compassionate smile.

Steve couldn't help but smile weakly back at the blonde woman who reminded him so much of Peggy.

"And in the end, you did get to goodbye. You never left her. You were always in her heart." Carter continued and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze.

Steve looked back at the grave where Peggy lay, his heart still beating though bruised and wounded. Sharon's presence soothed his aches and pains of his emotions. The grounds men were finished filling the hole and were placing sod upon the fresh earth. It was the perfect day. A perfect day to say both I love you and good bye.

"How about we go find everyone else?" Sharon suggested gently, rising to her feet.

"I think that is what she'd like." Rogers replied trying to compose himself more as he stood up, noticing the condition of his suit coat.

"That's the spirit, Captain." Sharon encouraged, "Perfect day for a new start."


	6. Chapter 6

Staggering from exhaustion and his wounds, Cap looked wearily at James as the ship disintegrated around them. Steve had saved the world… again. Could he save the soul of his best friend? The malevolence welled up like thick black tar into his heart as it shattered like the glass that flew through the air between them making a lethal shimmering mist. Bucky didn't know him, cutting his insides into ragged, bloody shreds of guilt.

Gasping for breath, his gut wound throbbing hotly with each heartbeat, Steve tried desperately to push back the evil that he saw in Bucky's eyes. "I'm not going to fight you. You're my _friend_." The shield fell through the floor as a premonition of the future.

The Devil himself threw a switch in the Winter Soldiers' brain launching him across the space like lightening, a guttural scream tearing itself from Barnes as if he were possessed. Cap crumpled with the impact, his will to live surrendering to the blackness. James was beyond hope.

"You're my mission!" Barnes panted like a wild animal being whipped into a frenzy.

The beating began.

Rogers began to feel his soul separating from his body as the Commandos called from over Bucky's shoulder, welcoming Cap home.

 _No, not yet. I can save him!_ Steve pleaded.

Barnes paused, out of breath, silver fist of death poised above his head, ready to finish the mission.

Rogers' head swam in confusion from the pummeling. His hearing was dulled to a low roar of sound. This was the end; he was dying. He had one last shot at redeeming James from his fate. Cracking swollen, bleeding eyes, he gazed for the last time at his best friend. A hoarse whisper rose from his throat with the last of his strength, "Then finish it. 'Cause I'm with you… to the end of the line."

The inky black receded a fraction as if burned by the truth and honesty of Rogers' words. A spark of light that cast no shadows filled James' expression of what he had done to Steve. Cap could see his old friend again above him, just like used to when saving his ass from a fight, or nursing his pneumonia.

The Howling Commandos smiled over Barnes' shoulder. Steve had done it. Bucky had returned.

With a huge shudder the ship broke into a million pieces.

Steve fell, regretting only one thing: he'd never get to see Bucky again.

Barnes was freed of his burden.

Steve could die in peace.


	7. Chapter 7

Dark Side 6

 **A/N We know that Cap and Crossbones duke it out in some Wakandan town, as witnessed by the trailer for Civil War. Brock knew who Bucky was** _ **the whole time**_ **through Winter Soldier. Brock and Cap worked together at S.H.I.E.L.D., while Brock** **knew** **that Pierce was in control of Bucky as the Winter Soldier. I paint you a scene of retribution for that knowledge that is NOT in the movie.**

A crack of light from the imperfectly made wall fell across his haggard face in a jagged line. The black and white 'X' across his chest illuminated brightly. Cap leaned against that imperfect wall, arms angrily crossed over his chest, bathed in shadow like a terrible ghost haunting the space. Rivulets of sweat beaded at his hairline and crawled their way down his face into the collar of his suit. His helmet off, the purpling of bruise began to show around his left eye. Blood coagulated beneath his nose in a lazy stream of crimson. Steve made no motion to wipe it away as his blue eyes focused with laser-like intensity upon the unconscious Brock Rumlow bound in a chair.

The air tasted like dust and diesel. With a pain filled groan, Brock began to stir.

Feeling his hands and feet bound, Crossbones let out a low chuckle that betrayed a few broken ribs, "Well done, Captain."

"We are far from done." Steve answered still leaning against the wall, every muscle taught with aggression. He was going to enjoy this. For him. For Bucky.

"Really? I disagree. Things are in motion, Rogers. I think you better get going so you can save the world before the Accords take you out of it." Brock replied, his deeply scarred face a leer.

"I don't care about the world right now. I care about just one man." Steve pushed himself away from the wall, arms coming loose from his chest like a deadly big cat approaching a target.

Crossbones laughed mirthless laugh that grated on Cap's nerves, "You aren't seriously still mad about that? Really, Rogers? He's not even your friend anymore. He is HYDRAs."

With a powerful backhanded slap, Steve punctuated Rumlow's sentence with blood flying out of his mouth.

"I guess you could say, I'm still a little sore about it." Steve leaned over into Brock's face, "But remember, it's nothing personal."

"This isn't your style, Rogers." Brock muttered while adjusting his aching jaw.

"You haven't seen my dark side." Steve replied, a furious look brewing over his face like a storm front.

"Quoting 'Star Wars' now? I suppose you've caught up on your movies. I hear there's a new one coming out soon." Brock sneered.

Steve punched Brock squarely in the stomach making a huge grunt of air exit his chest in a gush of wind.

"How long did you know? Was it when Pierce first hired you?" Steve straightened and paced around Brock's chair slowly while the mercenary sucked air back into his lungs, "Or was it after you sold yourself to HYDRA like the whore you are?"

"No need for name calling, Cap." Brock wheezed.

"How long did you know Bucky was the Winter Soldier?" Steve pressed pausing behind the chair, "I bet you came to work every day, gloating inside that you knew where my best friend was. What he had become. You sick sonofabitch."

"Language." Brock replied sullenly knowing where this was headed but determined to make Cap hurt just as much as Steve was going to hurt him.

Steve pulled out a knife and slid it into Brock's back, gently like a lover, right at the base of the right lung, between the ribs. A gasp of pain escaped Brock's throat. Leaving the knife there, Steve stood up, "You know you're not getting out of here alive. I've killed men for less."

A tiny look of horror passed over Rumlow's face as Rogers smiled.

Walking back around to the front of Crossbones, Cap began calmly," I guess one thing that's not in my file is I don't like bullies. I didn't like them in the 1940's and I sure as hell don't like them now." Steve put his hands on his hips, "Natasha has been a most excellent tutor. She can do some of the darndest things to make someone talk." Steve paused watching Rumlow tensely try to sit as still as possible with the knife in his back so it didn't hurt or make him bleed to death. A dark glint of satisfaction flashed over Roger's eyes, "But I don't want to hear what you have to say. I just want you to pay for knowing where Bucky was." 

"I don't owe you anything." Brock wheezed, a bright bubble of blood frothing up as his right lung slowly filled, drowning him from the inside.

"You certainly don't have anything to lose then do you?" Steve gave a tight lipped grin, his eyes cold.

"Get it over with Rogers." Brock glared, his chest heaving with each strained breath.

"Can you imagine what it's like, Brock? To have your whole world torn from you over and over? A puppet. A perfect flesh and blood machine. Can you imagine?" Steve waxed poetic gazing at the wall where dust motes danced like tiny fairies in the beams of tropical sun. "Frozen. Thawed. Frozen. Thawed only when they needed you. No memories of anything like friends, or family or life. Total suffering and pain."

"Don't… start… crying, Rogers." Brock began to gasp.

Steve gave him a piercing look, "You know what I wish? I wish I could have some more time so you could experience that. But I'll settle for this time right here. Bucky deserves some avenging." Another knife appeared in his hand and Brock's eyes went wide in their scarred sockets.

When Cap finished, the imperfect walls had a new color. The metallic tang of blood mixed with the dust and diesel scent. There was also a hint of fear in the air. Steve relished that smell most; the fear that Brock felt as his life slipped away. It seemed right for Bucky's revenge that the last thing Crossbones felt was fear.

Steve paused catch his breath and to let the red clear from his vision. His shield lay against the wall and he noticed it was the only thing in the room not covered in gore. How it stayed pristine, he had no idea. An unexpected lump rose in his throat and his eyes burned like the sun. He heard Erskine's words remind him why he was chosen for Project Rebirth. The image of Bucky in the frozen sarcophagus overlapped in his mind with the Stark tech that helped make him into the man he was.

Sinking to his knees, knife dropping from his hand uselessly into the dust, he did just what Brock told him not to.

Steve cried.


	8. The Codes (contains CA:CW Spoilers)

**My Dark Side—The Codes**

 **A/N This contains SPOILERS to Captain America: Civil War. You've been warned.**

T'Challa's serious expression gazed out the huge window into the misty jungle beyond. Just barely visible through the mist, the snarling carved face of the Black Panther stared back in solid obsidian, remnants of the ancient volcano that once stood there millennia ago. Huge trees and vines clung to the cliff side. The sound of tropical birds was barely audible inside the building. "Let them try." he commented confidently to Steve's concern that Bucky and he were sitting ducks if they stayed in Wakanda.

Steve gave a wan smile, lines around his eyes tight with worry and his heart and head a million miles away from being ok at that moment. "If you will forgive me, I have some business to attend to." T'Challa turned from the window and placed a friendly hand upon Captain America's shoulder. Steve didn't trust his tongue and replied with a nod of his head and a thankful look. The King of Wakanda left the room. Technicians around him kept typing and analyzing data.

Steve pivoted to look at Bucky in the cryochamber, heart in his throat. Placing a tentative hand over the cool glass, he swallowed hard. Just moments ago, he let Barnes lock himself away in sleep until he could be cured from HYDRA's brainwashing. _Why did I let him go, again?_ Steve wondered hopelessly to himself. The whistle of a train echoed in his memories.

* * *

He couldn't sleep. Tossing and turning in his bed in T'Challa's palace, the ability to fine rest eluded him.

Bucky was here. Just floors above him. Frozen. Part of knowing he was close and safe warmed Steve's heart a fraction but it didn't last.

HYDRA and the Russians froze Barnes too.

What kind of friend let their brother do that to themselves?

Rising from bed, he exited his room and took the elevator to the laboratory that looked out over the forest.

The darkness was pure velvet outside as the jungle night creatures chirped and sang, grunted and growled. Omnipresent mists swirled in the moonlight giving the landscape an eerie surreal yet safe feeling. As the moon passed between clouds, he could see the face of the Panther still there, watching him. Guarding.

Inside the lab, soft blues of computer screens and various readouts from computer systems were reflected upon the spotless glass windows like modern star constellations. The omnipresent hum of technology filled the air reassuringly that everything was functioning perfectly. Unfortunately, Steve didn't share in that comfort.

Rogers clung to the handrail with white knuckles staring resolutely forward, not quite ready to look at Bucky again. Tiredness seeped like an oil spill into his bones as every bruise, both physical and emotional, cried out to his consciousness and eroded his spirit.

His imagination wandered in his exhaustion to Azzano. He heard Bucky's voice whispering in the night. _"James…. Buchanan ….Barnes. 32-5…577….038. NO. Make it stop!" Buck gasped from his place tied down to the table._ Remembering, now Steve saw the paleness of Bucky's face, the needle marks on his arm from the injections. The burn scars from his torture. Steve felt his shoulders knot in anger.

 _The thirty mile forced march through enemy territory back from Azzano crunched loudly through his mind. Bucky had collapsed after giving him the best welcome home speech he could ever want. Finally, Steve got to be the big guy instead of the little one. In hindsight, Steve wished that the price for his new fame hadn't been so steep. Bucky was never the same after Azzano._

" _I'm fine. Get off me." Barnes complained from the ground, weakly pushing Steve's helping hands away. The crowd had gone silent after their jubilant celebration._

" _C'mon, I'm taking you to triage." Steve declared firmly grabbing Bucky's shirt to haul him off the ground. "I'm not having you die before our homecoming."_

 _Barnes stiffened at the last word, his eyes widening._

" _What'd you say?" he whispered fearfully._

" _Homecoming." Steve said helping Barnes up from the ground, the concerned crowd parting for them as he slung Barnes's left arm over his shoulder. "We need to get you tip top and checked out. Colonel Philips said we're breaking camp at daybreak."_

 _Bucky twisted violently in Steve's grip and broke loose, staggering a few steps away, panting, eyes wild, "Stop."_

" _Hey! What's wrong with you?" the ignorant Steve said. "I know you're not a morning person. Maybe we can get old Chester to move the time up to nine."_

 _Bucky felt to his knees, head in his hands, screaming._

After reading the Russian file Natasha had given him and seeing what Zemo did, Steve now knew he was using Bucky's trigger words that Hydra had been implanting in his brain. He knew now the Russians would finish his conversion after he fell off the train.

Steve knew now. He wished he knew then.

" _You might not want to pull on that thread." Natasha warned him three years ago in Arlington._

He pulled it hard.

Steve turned away from the darkened window and faced the gently illuminated glass case that held his best friend. A sob rose in his chest but he shoved it down roughly, only a slight cough coming out.

Approaching the case, he closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the glass, just scant inches away from Bucky's. Inches. It felt like millions of miles.

The text of the Russian files he read played like a grainy news reel from the war on the back of his eyelids.

 _December 14, 1943_

 _HYDRA Soviet Division_

 _Laboratory Notes_

 _" A curious specimen was brought to me today from the HYDRA patrols in the valley below the rail line. Sgt. James Barnes of the United States Army was found in a ravine after Dr. Zola's train was tragically beset by Captain America and Zola captured. Judging from his injuries, he must have fallen from the train as it passed by._

 _I recognize him from Zola's notes. Dr. Zola used him for some preliminary testing when his lab was located in Azzano, Italy. Brilliant work. Unfortunately, we had to amputate the specimen's arm, but I can see the genius of Zola's work in the subjects' resiliency. He will make a fine sample to continue HYDRA's work on."_

Steve forced himself to breathe.

 _December 25, 1943_

 _Hydra Soviet Division_

 _Laboratory Notes_

 _" The graft of our new metal to man is complete. The Engineering department was very excited for the news that it was successful. They have gotten tired of trying to copy Howard Stark's technology, since he seems to be always one step ahead of us. The Subject has fully recovered from surgery to repair his left arm. We had to sedate him for a few days until he stopped trying to pull the artificial arm off. The engineering of the bionic arm is exquisite and the Subject has already attempted to use it, although it resulted in the unfortunate death of one of our scientists. He also broke several pieces of equipment. Apparently our Subject is quite feisty and keeps stating the Captain America is going to rescue him. We supplement him with a sedative to keep him calm."_

 _January 15, 1944_

 _Hydra Soviet Division_

 _Laboratory Notes_

 _" The Subject's designation has now been changed to Asset. He is in robust physical health, despite his initial shock to having a metallic prosthetic arm. The mental portion of our work begins. I am told we need to erase his memory and create a new one for our grand purpose. Dr. Zola had some theories in his notes regarding how to accomplish this goal, but for the most part, this is new territory for HYDRA and us. I feel honored to be a part of such a grand undertaking._

 _We have attempted many different psychoactive drugs on him. Some create a stupor, which is unacceptable, and others create great agitation in him. One of the stranger concoctions almost burned his veins to cinders. We shall not try that one again._

 _In therapy sessions, even under medication, the Asset keeps repeating a name: Steve Rogers. It is almost mantra-like in his repetition of that name. I have been told that was his best friend and the Captain America. He curses otherwise in English and Russian (which is a good thing showing he is learning the languages we are implanting in his brain, typically at us, and then returns to chanting 'Steve Rogers' when he catches his breath from our trials. Sometimes, he is too tired to speak but it is then we achieve the most progress._

 _I think we will have to combine pharmaceuticals with traditional electric therapy and verbal therapy to achieve our goals. My confidence level is high."_

 _March 18, 1944_

 _Hydra Soviet Division_

 _Laboratory Notes_

 _"We have setback with the Asset. Today, some distinguished guests from HYDRA came to watch our latest demonstration. Some Ally POW's were brought in, a mix of English and American soldiers who were in average physical condition compared to our superb Asset. We wanted to demonstrate the Asset's training and ability. A battle arena of sorts was created with a selection of weapons where we put the POW's. They quickly took up the arms and looked for a way out, as expected._

 _We wanted our dignitaries to have the full experience of what we were trying to achieve. The Asset, now also known as the Winter Soldier, was stored in his holding chamber. Once we thawed him from cryosleep, he was placed into the activating apparatus. A mixture of pharmaceuticals and electricity were applied with his action words: 'Longing, Rusted, Seventeen, Daybreak, Furnace, Nine, Benign, Homecoming, One, Freightcar'." The Soldier exhibited normal behavior upon reactivation, and only one of our guests expressed any discomfort at the Asset's noises and what we have come to see as his normal reactions to our work; screaming and thrashing. We take that as a sign of how robust he is!_

 _Through mirrored bulletproof glass, we observed what occurred next, which was to drop our Asset into the room from the ceiling, simulating a real mission. His instructions were clear- kill all the POW's as quickly as possible._

 _The Asset was highly efficient in dispatching the American and English troops with great efficiency and grace. However, the break down occurred when he got to the last American solider, who evidently (and unknowing to us) knew the Asset before his train accident. The soldier looked up at the Asset before he shot him and called out the Asset's former name._

 _The Asset paused in his onslaught and stared blankly at the man. He then looked around the room at the results of his excellent work. At that moment, a realization that he was the source of the carnage occurred and he let out a loud yell and began to sob uncontrollably. He begged the American POW for forgiveness and the two of them clutched each other collapsing to the floor, crying._

 _Our superiors were not impressed by his mental and emotional weakness and we were firmly instructed to remedy it._

 _The POW was removed and we sedated the Asset._

 _I have a theory that longer bouts of cryotherapy may help with the mental stability of our Asset. It appears if he is left out of the cold too long, his memories return."_

 _April 25, 1944_

 _Hydra Soviet Division_

 _Laboratory Notes_

 _"The longer periods of cryotherapy have been a success by augmenting the prescriptions and verbal therapy to wipe his mind. He believes he has no mother or father. His recollection of his school days and home are not present. We have inserted the appropriate background into his mind so that he believes that he was a part of HYDRA from the beginning. However, we still have one hurdle to overcome. That is the troublesome memory of Steve Rogers. The Asset does not remember him as the Super Soldier he is now, but he still harbors their childhood memories. We will begin a process of verbal therapy to finally eradicate that name from the Asset."_

 _Addendum to Lab Notes:_

 _"This is a transcript of our verbal therapy with the Asset to erase the final memories of Steve Rogers. The Asset was sitting in his therapy chair and administered a serum of proprietary design. Once the drug had taken effect and his trigger words were used and the shrieking stopped, we began. Interestingly, this was all spoken in Russian. The Soldier now uses Russian as his primary language._

 _Asset- Ready to comply._

 _Therapist- Asset. Can you hear me?_

 _Asset- Yes._

 _Therapist- I want to talk about Steve Rogers._

 _Asset- He's coming for me._

 _Therapist- Yes, you think this._

 _Asset- I do._

 _Therapist- I want to ask you why you think he has not come?_

 _Asset- Because that punk couldn't find his way out of a wet paper bag._

 _Therapist- I see. And what does Steve Rogers look like?_

 _Asset- He is the scrawniest kid I ever saw. Tiny. He's always sick and I… I think I take care of him. Yes. I do. He's my friend._

 _Therapist- I see. And it is because he is so frail and small you care for him?_

 _Asset- No, because he is the bravest, most honorable guy I know. He's a real trooper. He's my friend._

 _Therapist- But real friends help each other, correct?_

 _Asset- Yeah._

 _Therapist- Then if he's your real friend, then why has he not come?_

 _Asset- I dunno. ** there is confusion in his voice with uncertainty.**_

 _Therapist- I have a letter here from a few months ago stating that he's been seen with other friends and he knows you are here with us. ** The therapist holds up a letter with gibberish. A prop**_

 _Asset- That's not true. Lemme see that.** the Asset is trying to see the letter but he is restrained._

 _Therapist- I am sorry. I cannot. But its signed here and notarized. It is the truth._

 _Asset- can't be true. Stop it. ** the Asset is struggling against his bonds**_

 _Therapist- I also have bad news about Steve Rogers._

 _Asset- What!? Tell me._

 _Therapist- He is dead. He contracted pneumonia and died this week._

 _Asset- NO. NO. NO. ** he is struggling mightily against his chair. The technician applies a delicate shock**_

 _The therapist waits for the tetanus of the electricity to cease then repeats that Steve Rogers is dead, followed by an electric shock. This is repeated twelve times until the Asset is exhausted. Now that the Asset is in a weakened state, the therapist produces a photo of a facsimile 'Steve Rogers' which we created. It shows a dead boy that matches the description we have on file._

 _Therapist- I have something to show you._

 _Asset- No._

 _Therapist- I think you should see it._

 _Asset- No._

 _The therapist nods to the technician and a gentler shock is applied. The Assets eyes are open as he responds to the electricity. The therapist puts the photo in front of the Asset's face. He emits a very loud, mournful sound for several seconds and then loses consciousness._

 _We will see tomorrow if this final procedure has obliterated the memory of Steve Rogers."_

"Steve, maybe I'm not worth all this." Bucky's voice reached out from memory.

Steve didn't have an answer for him then that was satisfactory. But now he did and Barnes couldn't hear him, "But you are, Buck. You are because of who you are; a good man."

Steve opened his eyes and looked at the serene face of his friend frozen in the box. "A good man, Buck." Steve swallowed his tears, "And I'll never let them forget that. Don't you go forgetting that too."

 **A/N : Post credits... I was SO MAD at Steve for letting Bucky go back under the ice. I really WAS. Can you tell how furious I am? Dang man, you just got him BACK. Just give him to Sam for a while and Sam will make it all better. Don't freeze your best friend AGAIN! Sheesh. 8belles**


	9. Frozen (AU end for CA:CW)

Frozen

The Devil himself raged in Rogers like a caged dragon. Flames of red hot wrath incinerated his heart as if it were made of gasoline, leaving only black dust in its wake. Tony Stark lay on the scalding cold floor, prone, hands raised in supplication, as the frenzied Captain America was poised to cleave him in half with the very shield his own father made.

Tony Stark finally saw Steve Roger's dark side and it was horrifying.

Absolutely terror was the last thing he felt as the red embered eyes of Steve plunged the edge of the shield into his chest. Instead of death, he only heard then saw the arc reactor crack with a thunderous boom and sputter out just as the massive temper faded in Rogers in ragged, huffing gasps.

Staggering to his feet, Steve looked wearily around for Bucky. Last he saw him, he was laying on the frigid concrete floor, bleeding, his left arm obliterated by Stark's reactor.

He was gone.

Rogers spun around wildly finding some reserve of adrenaline from somewhere deep in his body to fuel his sudden panic. "Buck!" he bellowed, his voice hoarse. Spotting a blood trail, he followed it, completely oblivious to the stunned and disabled Stark still laying on the floor, shield embedded in his Mark suit.

The crimson trail lead away from the Russian base catacombs to the open air where the cold wind whipped and burned. Snow crunched under Cap's feet as the tepid sun blinded him with its white light. The splotches of red punctuated the white snow like poppies and became larger and larger as he moved along them. Finally, breaking into a disorganized trot, fearing the worse, Steve jogged exhaustedly down the trail.

He jolted to a stop when he saw Bucky just ahead in the half snow covered gorse and tussocks of grass. Roger's breath came in gulps and fits of condensation.

Barnes was lying on his side, back to Rogers, as if comfortably asleep. The wind that whipped the tundra seemed to gently play with his brunette hair, smoothing it; caressing it as if to welcome back home to the cold. The stump of the bionic arm stood out ominously as wires poked at the pale blue sky.

Steve approached hesitantly, knowing somewhere in his heart, Bucky was dead but daring for a moment to hold a candle flame of hope against the icy wind.

Under Bucky, a large red stain opened up around him like a rose, coloring the tundra and melting the snow with his life. Barnes's skin was perfect alabaster with the hints of life still draining from under the stubble of his cheeks. The edges of his eyelids were flecked with miniscule perfect snowflakes as bluish circles formed under his eyes. Bucky's expression was not one of pain, but verged on serene. Steve sank to his knees behind Barnes, arms falling limply to his sides. The incredible weight of his loss bowed his head as he folded in upon himself. From the pit of his stomach, the core of his soul, a wrenching sob formed and slowly oozed up through him like toxic waste. Steve gently wrapped his arms around and under the still warm body of Bucky to embrace him, pulling him close to the star on his chest. Blood began to cover both of them. The sound that echoed off the rocks and startled birds from their roosts was one of unadulterated grief.

T'Challa, having secured Zemo in his plane, heard the unearthly noise and knew exactly what it was. Only a few short weeks ago, he himself had felt the depth of that sound; the sound of soul crushing despair.

Rising, he padded lightly towards the source of the sound. Keeping a stealthy distance, he witnessed Steve weeping bitterly over the body of his best friend. With a heavy heart for Rogers, T'Challa left him to grieve while he checked on Stark.

When T'Challa arrived, Stark was sitting, his back to a pillar, the shield in his hands, staring at it with a vacant, lost expression. He didn't seem to notice or react to the King of Wakanda's presence. Finally, T'Challa broke the silence. "James Barnes is dead."

Tony flinched lightly at the name and then blinked in barest of recognition of the comment. His voice was tired, confused but still angry, "The Winter Soldier? Karma truly is a bitch."

T'Challa set his stance, crossing his arms over his chest, "No, a man is dead. From what I have learned about the evil and good of man, he was a good man. The… thing that killed your parents… was already gone."

"He still did it." Tony snapped, finally meeting T'Challa's eyes. "His hands were around my mother's neck. _His_."

"This may be true. However, you cannot let your pain obscure the real truth." T'Challa replied evenly, not reacting to the blazing gaze of Stark.

"Leave me the hell alone." Tony said quietly, his voice taut.

"As you wish." T'Challa replied, turning, "I will see to it that General Ross knows your location as it seems you will not be getting yourself home."

With careful silent steps, he left the broken Iron Man to sit in the cold.

There was a funeral to plan for a good man who became a victim.

 **A/N- This was nagging at me for a few days. I just adore T'Challa's strength and fallibility. It makes him a great compass for the other characters.**


	10. Dancing on My Own

Dancing on My Own

The wooden steps up the back of the tenement creaked dangerously beneath his feet as he wearily trudged up them to the apartment. The warm July air magnified the street stench that toyed with Roger's asthma. Thankfully, Wilcox, the neighborhood bum wasn't in the back-alley Bucky and Steve used to access their home. Steve just didn't want to put up with him tonight.

Reaching the exterior door, he fumbled in his pocket for the key and shoved it in the lock.

Flicking the light switch, the single bare bulb in the apartment didn't turn on. Steve stared angrily but impotently at it. Either it meant the landlord didn't pay the electric bill or he was going to extort it from his renters for the overdue penalty. Luckily, it was July and the sun was in the disposition to remain in the sky longer.

Resignedly, Rogers entered their three-room home and shut the door behind him, not bothering to lock it. He tossed his keys into a bowl on the kitchen table and kicked out a chair to crash onto. Rubbing his hands over his eyes, he felt the grit of the day on his eyelids. Every bone in his body hurt. He felt like the color grey; washed out and lifeless.

A single shaft of light that reflected off the building next door lit the dust motes through the only window in the apartment. To Steve, that one beam of light looked grey too, not golden. Sounds of the neighbors around him preparing dinner stirred him reach over and flick on the small radio. It crackled to life, causing Rogers to look up again at the bare bulb dangling from its black cord. The cost of a new bulb was going to strain their meager budget, he frowned. One more thing to make this day worse.

Leaning back again into his chair he rested his chin thoughtfully in his hand and listened to the broadcast. The Germans were moving in Europe, having invaded France and taken Paris. Norway and Brussels had fallen the month before. They stood on the doorway of England.

The broadcast switched to the stately voice of Winston Churchill, echoing out to the world that England would fight Germany alone if needed, to the last man if need be. The resolution in his tone was inspirational yet left the question, was anyone going to help turn back the Nazi tide?

The news broadcast turned to the 1940 election. President Roosevelt was promoting his platform, and then the newsman reported on what the opposing candidate, Willkie, was promoting. The voices began to swirl in Roger's head so he switched the radio off.

Rogers started to feel his blood boil. He and Bucky had talked long and hard about how the United States would react to this international situation. Bucky thought they'd steer clear of trouble; after all didn't the U.S. have a huge economic depression to deal with? And the last world war did neither of their families any good. Why go to war?

Steve saw it differently. He saw Hitler as the Devil incarnate. Who else but the United States would be strong enough to help their friends in a time of need? Bucky had laughed casually at his patriotism, but he saw Steve's point. "But what if there's a draft?" Steve had said suddenly, wide eyed at Bucky, as the potential of his point drove home.

With a resigned sigh, Barnes replied, "Then I'll go. It's the right thing to do."

Rogers felt a simultaneous wash of fear for Bucky, and then hot shame that he _knew_ he'd be rejected.

He said nothing to Bucky for the rest of that evening.

Fumbling out his father's pocket watch, Steve checked the time. It was getting late as the sun angle shifted away from their window and the apartment grew dark. He rose from the chair and lit a few kerosene lamps they kept on hand for occasions like this. The smell of the smoke rankled his nose as he wondered where Bucky was.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Barnes burst in the door excitedly. "Rogers! Get your coat. We're going dancing."

Steve turned to face Barnes, whose face was flushed, eyes bright and reeking of the docks where he had a job loading ships. It had been a godsend he had gotten that job. Steve's sign painting work wasn't bringing in much money because businesses couldn't afford to advertise.

"I'm not in the mood." Rogers replied and set the lamp down, "We need to buy another bulb for the light."

"You sound like an old fishwife." Barnes beamed, striding to him and giving him a light shove on the shoulder. Steve glared at him.

"Well, unless you want to become a bat living in a cave, we need a new bulb. Dancing won't pay for that." Steve groused back.

Bucky wouldn't be deterred, flinging off his suspenders, stripping off his sweat stained button down to his under shirt but leaving his pants on and gathering his small bar of soap and rough towel. The communal bathroom was at the end of the hallway that connected their apartment to the rest of the building. He'd been reprimanded several times by the other neighbors for going to the facilities in less than 'decent' attire. "C'mon stick in the mud. Let me wash up and we'll go."

"No thanks." Steve replied again over his shoulder not looking at Barnes.

Bucky paused, "Rough day?"

"Don't want to talk about it."

"Ok. We will when I get clean."

Steve had to unclench his fists after the interior door closed behind Barnes.

When Barnes reappeared, his hair was glossy black from water and his ruddy cheeks were from a scrubbing and not the anticipation of a party. He set his things down more purposefully, eyeing his best friend who sat dejectedly at the kitchen table, head in hand, staring at nothing.

"So, what happened today?" Bucky asked quietly.

At first Steve ignored him. Barnes moved around into his line of sight making Rogers look up at his friend. "I don't want to talk about it."

Barnes gave him a thoughtful look. It troubled him deeply when Steve was in one of his moods. The burning hurt was always there, Bucky knew, from their childhood days of bullying, being sick, his dad's passing but now it was an even larger monster inside the big-hearted man. His mom's death was the last straw. Buck walked his fine line between Steve's anchor and the reminder of everything Steve would never have.

"Ok. Then perfect excuse to forget the errors of the day! Let's go, punk." Bucky said carefully optimistic.

"We don't have the money." Steve said, his blue eyes greyed.

"Well, Mr. Pursestrings, I got me a bonus!" Bucky smiled widely and produced a five-dollar bill from his work trousers. Steve guessed that was what had Barnes all excited.

"Where'd you steal it from?" Rogers attempted a joke, halfheartedly.

"My boss said he likes my work. Said I'll be promoted soon once the economy picks back up but until then, he gave me this." Bucky replied.

"That's great." Steve replied hollowly but trying to sound upbeat, remembering the newscast on the radio and thinking there was going to be a war before the economy returned.

"Well, are you going to join me in my windfall? I'm mean, if you're not, I'd be happy to find someone who will. "Bucky hardened his expression getting a bit tired of Steve's dour mood.

Rogers looked up at Bucky again, realizing that this might be a good thing to forget about all the bad of the day and his depressed outlook. "Ok. Fine, jerk."

"Then get your skinny ass dressed, Rogers. We're going out!" Barnes declared waving his five in the air in his fist.

They took a walk down the street, the warm evening air carrying the sound of children, radios playing big bang music and laughing. The coughing and backfiring of model A's rattling down the street punctuated the night with the heartbeat of the city. Steve felt cold even though it was July, jamming his hands into his pockets and hunching his shoulders. Barnes shined a smile at every face he saw, pointing and waiving to locals he knew.

Their favorite watering hole appeared and Barnes jerked the door open and entered, followed by Steve who tried not to be noticed. The bartender waved them over and poured both of them a cold frosty mug of beer. Inside, smoke hovered near the ceiling from cigars and cigarettes and a small jazz trio was playing some warm up tunes. Steve felt his chest constrict from the smoke and the dim ambiance felt tangible making his skin crawl.

"How's my two favorite boys!" the barkeep asked jovially pushing the beer towards them.

"Feeling good, Antonio. Feeling good." Buck replied handing him the five.

"Holy cow, look at this Mr. Rockefeller!" Antonio replied, his thick black moustache spreading over his smile. "What'd you do? Charm some old lady blind into givin' you this?"

Barnes looked falsely offended, "Me? Swindle old ladies? C'mon, Antonio, we all know what makes money: hard work. America: land of opportunity." Barnes replied sipping the froth off his beer. Steve thought part of the at five could have been used to buy them a new lightbulb, but he kept his mouth shut.

"Want me to open a tab for you fellas?" Antonio slipped the five into huge brass cash register that seemed to take up a fourth of the bar top. The bell rang with a cheer sound as the cash was deposited.

"Sure thing." Buck replied turning around to survey the room.

"You don't intend to drink that five dollars away, do you?" Steve asked in a low voice.

Barnes glanced angrily down at Rogers, who was also now looking over the room, "Steve, I'm not sure what happened to you today, but you gotta snap out of it. I'm sharing my fortune with you because you're my best friend. You can at least act like you appreciate it."

Steve glared back up at Bucky and sipped his beer. The cold drink only kept his mouth busy so he wouldn't say anything rash.

The band struck up a popular tune as a few hoots of approval moved over the assembled crowd. Chairs and tables were shoved out of the way to make an impromptu dance floor. Couples found each other and began to dance. Barnes smiled over the scene as Steve drank more beer, the alcohol working his bad mood in deeper instead of dispelling it.

Barnes found some other friends and moved away from Steve, determined to have a good time because he earned it. They chatted casually and laughed often as Rogers watched from the bar, occasionally getting bumped by a larger customer. "Are you even old enough to be here, son?" a portly man with a greying beard asked.

Rogers turned his back on the man before his temper got the best of him.

Music began to slur in his ears as he leaned more heavily on the bar. Antonio handed him his third beer and said something but Rogers couldn't hear, or he didn't care. It was starting to be difficult to tell. Bucky had moved over closer to the music with his arm around a woman's waist.

Steve watched him deftly turn the woman around, grasping her right hand as he pressed her to him in the beginnings of a dance. She said something to Barnes, then ducked her head coyly, while he leaned down to her ear. She giggled. He smiled and turned her around and back to him in rhythm with the beat of the song.

Rogers felt his cheeks color in embarrassment for the forwardness of his friend. Bucky always had the ladies. He could talk to them, dance with them, ask them out on dates and probably more if he'd wanted to. Steve looked down at himself; short, sickly, skinny. What girl would ever want him, besides his mamma. What kind of man was he? Not the kind his boss would hand him a five dollar bill for his work, that's for sure. Steve Rogers: New York's biggest blockhead.

Another song had passed and the band wound it down to something slower, more intimate. Bucky held onto the young lady and she didn't seem to mind at all. They swayed together as he put her hand on his chest, holding it there with his own hand. Steve couldn't take his eyes off them, so magnetic a pair they were to watch. She looked up luminously at Barnes, her finger curls framing her youthful face and perfect blazing red lipstick shining against her skin like a Hollywood blockbuster.

Steve watched Buck lean in for a kiss.

A bomb went off in his head.

"Take your hands off her, Bucky!" a roar of a shout came out from Steve as he weaved towards Barnes and the woman.

Bucky broke the kiss suddenly and pushed the woman aside to prevent Rogers from slamming into both of them. She let out a small scream as she tumbled backwards into the lap of another bar patron. People got up, yelling angrily at the pair.

"Steve! What is wrong with you?" Barnes tried to block Rogers from hitting him, but Steve was fully enraged with both the beer and culmination of his bad day.

"You always…" Steve swung a right hook, catching Barnes in the ribs, "get the job. You get …" Another swing but Bucky staggered out of reach, " the girl. You get EVERYTHING!" he bellowed like a bull.

Barnes sucked in air after the first punch. Steve may have been smaller, but he was a fierce street fighter when he wanted to be. "Stop Steve. The beer is talking." The room began to clear and clients were starting to leave.

Antonio shouted from behind the bar, "Hey! You two, if you're gonna brawl, do it outside!"

Bucky looked at the approaching Rogers and backed up towards the main door, where they almost flattened some patrons coming in for a drink. "You have it all, Bucky! What do I have? Nothin'. Nothin' at all!" Steve began to swing again, some hits connecting, some whiffing but Bucky not striking back at his friend.

As Barnes backed up to the door, he tripped down the stairs, sprawling himself on the sidewalk. Rogers launched himself on top of Bucky like a wild animal yelling obscenities. Pummeling Barnes, he looked more like a wild creature than a human as all the injustices and hurt came out upon his best friend. People stopped and stared at the fistfight in amazement.

In a flash, Barnes put up one good hit and clocked Rogers on the chin. His eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped forward, unconscious. Buck caught his breath, heaving the limp Steve off of himself onto the sidewalk. Someone offered him a kerchief to wipe his bloody nose. One eye didn't open fully and Barnes wondered if all his teeth were still tight in his gums. The crowds dissipated as he pulled himself up to a sitting position, looking down at his friend.

"What in the world is wrong with you, Steve?" he muttered to himself, blotting blood from his nose.

Antonio came out with a dishtowel wrapped around some ice and handed it to Bucky. He pressed it gratefully to his swollen eye, "Thanks, Antonio. What do I owe you?"

Antonio waved a callused hand at the seated Barnes, "Ah, I used to be young once. I know how these things go. In fact, a fight between my best friend and I resulted in my meeting my wife! Now there's a story!" He laughed a hearty laugh and reached into his pocket putting he change from Bucky's tab into his hand. "Get this boy to bed. He's going to feel that beer tomorrow!"

"Thanks, Antonio." Bucky replied tiredly, standing and handing back the cold towel from his puffy eye. Grabbing an arm, he scooped Rogers up, dragging most of him behind. He was grateful Steve was light and their apartment was close.

The bulb still didn't work when Bucky flicked the switch on. Cursing in the darkness, he made a mental note to save some of the pocket change for a new one. Buck pulled the still unconscious Steve into his bedroom and put him on top of the bed. Now relieved of his burden, he turned around the corner in the tiny tenement, loosened his tie and collapsed onto his bed as well. _So much for a fun night_ , he thought darkly before he drifted off to sleep.

"Bucky." Steve's voice was faint, but just audible. He smelled coffee and… vomit.

Barnes cracked an eye, the other too sore to open. His jaw ached as the daylight illuminated the small space showing a very greenish Rogers." What?"

Steve stood, leaning on the door frame of Barnes's room, two mugs in his hand, steam coiling up to his face where his eyes had dark circles under them. "I'm sorry."

Barnes sat up slowly as bruises announced themselves making him groan in pain, "S'alright." He accepted a cup.

"No. I'm a moron. I really screwed up last night." Steve said, obvious that he'd been puking for a while.

"Well, I'd say you paid for it already." Barnes breathed in the aroma of the coffee, not wanting Steve too near.

"I don't know what came over me." Steve began looking dejectedly at the floor, "It was just a bad day and …"

"It's ok. Really." Bucky wasn't sure he had it in him to listen to Steve right then.

"But it's not, Buck. I'm just so… I dunno. Lately it's hard to find a reason to smile." Steve confided, "And I see things going well for you and, it's like I just want to scream."

Barnes sighed deeply and then looked up at Steve standing there, the light haloing him like grace from heaven. "Steve, do you remember how we first met?"

"Yeah. Getting yelled at by my … mom." His voice hitched on 'mom'.

"Yes, but why were you getting yelled at?" Barnes said after a sip of joe.

"She didn't like me back talking the nun at school." Steve smirked a tiny bit.

"Because?"

"I thought she was mean and a bully."

Bucky smiled slightly, "And you just _love_ bullies, right?"

Steve looked at Barnes hard, "No."

"Then that," Bucky pointed at Steve with his cup, "Is why you get up every day and find a way to work through it."

Steve thought for a moment and drank a little coffee.

"You gotta live your life your way Steve. Not my way, not anyone else's way but yours." Bucky said plainly.

"Well, I'm still sorry." Rogers said sheepishly.

"If you make me breakfast, I might forgive you." Barnes replied with a smile, "And don't make my eggs runny. I hate runny eggs."

Steve turned around and moved to the kitchen. A little bit of color began to creep back into his vision and he felt a bit warmer. His life, his way. He'd just have to find what that way was and thank goodness that Bucky was a part of it.

A/N = historical notes- April 1940 Germany invaded Denmark and Norway and Brussels. May 1940 Germany invades and conquers France; June Paris is bombed by Germans. July 14, 1940 Winston Churchill give his speech to the world that England will fight alone, if need be. The draft didn't come until (Sources: ).

Story idea based off the song "Dancing On My Own" by Callum Scott

How Steve and Bucky met- "The Notebook, Chapter 9" by moi.

Thanks for coming back! I've been a bit quiet lately. Cheers! 8belles


End file.
